Survivor
by UnknownRegion
Summary: A de-aged Harry Potter was stranded in the middle of an unknown forest. To be hunted down by not only the ugliest creatures he had ever seen in his life, but also the most enthralling, would make anybody go mad. But not him. Harry Potter was a survivor. He would survive this, no matter how lost and small he currently was. MoD!Harry. Elfling!Harry. Slash/Yaoi. Het.
1. Prologue

**Summary:** A de-aged Harry Potter was stranded in the middle of an unknown forest. To be hunted down by not only the ugliest creatures he had ever seen in his life, but also the most enthralling, would make anybody go mad. But not him. Harry Potter was a survivor. He would survive this, no matter how lost and small he currently was.

 **Warning:** AU, Crossover, Slash (this means homosexual relationships), Killings/Torture, Mentions of Child abuse, DarkElfling!Harry

 **Disclaimer:** I do own neither Harry Potter nor the Lord of the Rings. I would be filthy rich otherwise.

"English/Westron"

" _Sindarin_ "

" _ **Spells**_ _"_

 _§_ _Parseltongue_ ** _/Black speech_ _§_**

* * *

 **Prologue**

* * *

Harry gasped, waking violently from his state of previous unconsciousness. The reason of his waking could be blamed by the pain he was currently feeling, radiating from nowhere, yet everywhere at the same time. His skin was intensely itchy, and his bones felt like someone had recently melted and was currently sculpting it to their liking. The same could be said about his eyes and ears.

Harry couldn't help but curl into himself, wishing to all his lucky stars that the pain would leave him soon. He would've groaned or cried out, but because of his childhood experiences, he refrained. He knew better than to start sobbing like a helpless child. Crying had never helped him before, in fact, it only made his throat hurt after a while.

He didn't know how long of a time had passed, it could be eternity for all he cared, but when the agonizing pain was over, he went limp, not at all caring that his cheek was pressed into the grassy groun–… Wait a second.

Harry bolted up, his Magic already in the process of numbing his nerves in preparation for him to flee from the area, or fight without worrying about his previous injuries(?). His eyes – which were no longer framed by hideous glasses due to a potion he had consumed a few years prior – scanned his immediate surroundings, taking note of all the hiding places that could fit his body if an enemy were to pop up unexpectedly.

When his eyes landed on a hollow tree root near from him, he made a move to stand and hide within until he recovered enough to apparate back to his little cottage – his safe haven. That was his plan anyway. He did not, in all of his life, expect to trip. On his own feet no less. He was not a clumsy person, thank you very much. Years of escaping bullies made him graceful and silent in his steps – it was the only way to avoid them.

With a muffled, humiliated groan, he placed both his palms onto the ground, intending to push himself up. However, he faltered. The two appendages currently in front of him were darker… and smaller. Way smaller. Harry knew that he was petite for his age, but not so much for his hands to be compared to a child's! And his skin. Oh Merlin, his skin! His usual pale complexion had turned… turned… His skin was gray, warm gray [1] to be precise! Who the hell had _gray_ skin!? Oh Merlin… Oh fucking Merlin! The only things he knew that had gray skin were inferi! Luckily, he felt no limbs of his decomposing or in the middle of falling off.

He would've thought that this was a prank, an elaborated joke, but he did not feel any foreign Magic in his system or skin, nor was the latter covered by paint, or anything in fact. He had rubbed his arms and legs till his skin were raw, but yet, the colour still remained the same – albeit a little reddish thanks to the friction he had intentionally provided.

As if he had snapped out of his paranoiac trance, he had begun to slowly notice how his surrounding seemed far bigger, with his clothes practically eating his smaller frame up. He shrugged off his Wizarding cloak, and rolled up his top and pants sleeve. He then stored the cloak within his bottomless mokeskin pouch – which was thankfully still with him – and tested his mobility, wobbling around until he felt ready to venture away from his waking point.

Whilst Harry was busy with trying to regain his former grace, he wondered who the hell was responsible for kidnapping him, dropping him to this unknown forest, de-aging him via excruciating means, and changing his skin colour. Whoever it was, they were going to die a slow and painful death once Harry got his hands on them.

Harry was usually very apathic to any but himself, and preferred isolation, but he would not stand idle when other people shit on his peaceful lifestyle. He knew that the community (country) that he had saved from the hands of Voldemort was ungrateful and feared him, so he retreated to an unknown cottage at the edge of Britain. It was practically self-exile, but he cared not. After having died and coming back to life, he felt that he had lost a portion of himself. It was hard for him to feel any sort of emotions – especially positive ones.

His friends did not understand, yet they continued to worry about him. He found that both endearing and annoying. One part of him wanted him to remain with them, but a bigger part of him wanted to do nothing with those hypocrites. Oh yes, he knew all the plots they had planned for him. Betrayal was something he did not accept, so before they even got a chance of betraying him, he left. It was for them as well as it was for him. He could not hurt them – punish them – for their betrayal because they have yet to betrayed him.

Sometimes, Harry was disgusted by how forgiving he was – or perhaps it was because he had long given up caring for any but himself?

But he went off topic. He thought back to those who could've had the balls to kidnap him within the safety of his home-made wards. When he came up with more than a hundred names, he scowled and pushed it to the back of his mind, though unforgotten, just not in priority. He would find out who was the cause of his misery on a later date, but for now, he needed to find some grub and to hydrate himself.

He picked up a branch near his feet and placed it upon his palm. His Magic was still recovering, but a simple Point-Me charm won't do him harm. Maybe.

"Point me, nearest water source." Water first, food later.

… And shelter afterwards. Hopefully before nightfall.

* * *

[1] The cover image is how I picture Harry to be, as well as his new skin tone. And no, I did not draw that. The only thing I excel at is drawing stick figures.

Ok so… I couldn't get this idea out of my mind after I have read **the Legend of the Sun Knight** by the brilliant Taiwanese novelist Yuwo. Aldrizzt the Dark Elf gave me this sudden bout of inspiration, so to thank him, I'll recommend the novel and manhua LSK to you lot!

 _ **Signing off,  
U.R.**_


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter Warning(s):** None for now

 **Disclaimer:** I do own neither Harry Potter nor the Lord of the Rings. I would be filthy rich otherwise.

"English/Westron"

" _Sindarin_ "

" _ **Spells**_ _"_

 _§_ _Parseltongue_ _ **/Black speech**_ _ **§**_

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

He couldn't help it. His jaws dropped inelegantly as he stared, gobsmacked, at his reflection that was staring right back at him, disbelief clearly on its delicate features. He had finally found a river after an hour of walking barefooted, and after deeming that the water was safe to drink, had practically inhaled said water. He was thirsty as hell, so excuse his lack of mannerism.

When he had finally had his fill, he brought out a canteen from out from his pouch, intending to have a water source on him at all times, when he only just noticed that he looked… vastly different from what he was _supposed_ to look like, and that was putting it mildly. As he had already resigned himself to accept, his skin was gray, but that was not all that had changed, sadly. The first thing his emerald green eyes (luckily that remained the same) were drawn to was the color of his locks – which was white. No, not blonde white. _Pure_ white. He could've been mistaken for an albino with the lack of color in his hair, but fortunately, he was hundred percent sure he wasn't an albino thanks to his skin. Thank Merlin for small mercies. Not that there was anything wrong with being an albino… Harry just preferred not to gain sunburn whilst traveling under the sun for an unknown duration of time, which even the thought of being under the sun for that long brought discomfort to him, much to his confusion.

But back to his appearance. His eyes appeared wider thanks to the thick white lashes surrounding them, and his features sharper, yet delicate (fragile) than before. He could even describe himself as… pointy(?). His ears however were a different story altogether. He had never seen such ears before. Even House-elves – and oh he hoped he wasn't one – had shorter and rounder ears than him. His ears were elongated, almost twice as long as his head, and sharpened at the tip to give it an elf-like appearance, yet not at the same time. Actually, if he didn't know better, he looked like a night elf, or the more common name, a Dark Elf.

However, Dark Elves, or Elves in general, were extinct over a thousand years ago. All that remained were the Cursed Elves, or better yet known as the House elves now.

A trembling hand was brought up, and as he brushed the tips of his fingers across his ear, he cancelled out the possibility of them being faked. It felt too real, and even if someone were to use Magic to elongate his ears, he would've felt the constant burn of his skin being stretched to their limits. He had the urge to cut said ears by three quarters to reduce its size, but firmly pushed that thought out of his noggin. He wasn't into self-mutilation, and if this appearance was the new him, he would accept it, albeit with much reluctance.

What he wasn't afraid to cut was his waist length hair however. How he did not notice beforehand was a mystery to him. They were so… eye-catching and _bright_. He brought a finger up – at least his nails were normal, though other people might disagree that purple wasn't considered a normal color for a nail – and positioned it a few centimeters below his chin. It was the length he preferred, and with that thought in mind, weaved his Magic into a solidified wind blade. It was smaller than what he had intended, but it would fulfill his purpose of cutting his damn hair.

Whilst he was busy with cutting away the excess hair, he thought back to how his Magic had become easier for him to wield. Magicals might think that he excelled in Wandless Magic, but they could not be more wrong in their assumptions. His wand – the Elder wand – had _melted_ into his right forearm a few years back, giving him a nasty burn-like scar in the process. The scar had the shape of his wand, and because of that, he deduced (correctly) that his own arm had become a conductor for him. His right arm _was_ his wand, as strange as that sounded.

When he was finally done, he raked a hand through his hair and nodded his approval. They did not obstruct his vision, and as a bonus, was silky and neat, unlike his previous bird's nest of a hair. After he was done examining his appearance for the last time (he took note that he appeared to be around the age of five), he proceeded to continue his original purpose of filling his canteen, which he charmed to never run out of water. Magic water was fine and all, but it was a last resort kind of thing for him. He disliked the taste of Magic in them – not that the other Wizards and Witches would notice since they're not as sensitive to Magic as he was. Eating one's own Magic could be described similar to eating one's own sweat in his experience. Not something he fancied, thank you very much.

After he was done, he pulled out one of his two pairs of golden, goblin made, Desert Eagle 44. Harry had to use both his hands to hold the heavy gun, rather than his usual one. Being in a body of an apparent five year old has many disadvantages. Being unable to wield a gun using one hand was one of them.

His gun was special, seeing that it would use condensed Magic as their bullets. He knew he was low on Magic, especially after cutting his hair and charming his canteen, but he couldn't possibly hunt animals without a weapon. He knew that melee wasn't possible until he was confident that he had not ended up somewhere similar to the Forbidden Forest.

When his stomach gave a despairing groan at its empty status, Harry grimaced and looked around, trying to find a rabbit or deer he could feast on. When he saw none by the riverbank, he gave up the idea of spending the night near here and tracked back into the forest. He kept an eye open as he stalked through the woods, his steps barely making any sound, as he cautiously scanned left to right. What he had stumbled upon was something he preferred not to have seen in his entire life. It caused him to do a double take actually.

Some kind of… mutilated beasts were chewing on the bones of what appeared to be a few four-legged animals. Harry could only stared at them with disgust from behind the safety of a bush as they spat out some of the bones and munched on raw organs.

Having had had enough of such… _eye candy_ … he carefully moved backwards, not once taking his eyes off of them in fear of being noticed. His efforts were for naught, as he accidentally stepped on a pile of dried leaves, making awfully loud crunching noises.

It, unfortunately, attracted the attention of those unknown (to him) creatures. Their bald and weirdly shaped heads swirled around, beady eyes focused upon his person. Harry didn't even take a split second in deciding to bolt out of the area. He just did. His instincts and self-preservation were practically screaming for him to get his skinny behind away from those creatures. As far and as fast as possible.

His ears twitched as he heard them chasing after him. He was unaccustomed to running around in the woods, so he stumbled a lot, losing much needed ground in between he and them. His feet hurt, seeing that he was barefooted, and he just knew that those creatures were hunting him via the smell of his blood.

He whispered a few minor spells under his breath, vanishing the blood, forcing his cuts to clot, and concealing his scent. He then climbed up a tree – he didn't know how the bloody hell he did it, but now wasn't the appropriate time for finding explanations – as if he was an expert tree climber, and then stilled his movements at the highest, thickest, and bushiest of the tree branches. The gun in his hands focused as he steadied his breathing. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he waited, already having used his Magic to glue him to the branch in case his small body couldn't handle the gun's recoil. Falling off wasn't even considered an option right now.

He didn't have to wait long. The creatures appeared almost immediately, sniffing the air as they moved. Harry's index finger twitched, but he resisted blowing those foul creatures' head off. If he were in his adult body, he would've (he had always been trigger happy), but a child's body was just not made to handle the stress of his gun's level of power. It would've undoubtedly broken his shoulder, collarbone, nose, or all three actually, so this was considered his last resort. He prayed to Circe that he won't be greeting Death so soon.

After five minutes of sniffing around unsuccessfully, one of the creatures spoke in the language he knew all too well, much to his shock. Well, it was a butchered version of Parseltongue to be precise, but it was still considered Parseltongue!

 _ **§It vanished! The meat vanished!"**_

 _ **§One does not simply vanish at will, you fool!§**_ Another ugly shouted back as he(?) sneered, sharpened yet rotten teeth for all to see and be intimidated (or disgusted, in Harry's case). _**§It must be around here somewhere! Find it! Do not let it escape – children have the most juiciest of flesh. The meat is too small to have covered much ground.§**_

Ugh. Carnivores. They should really be put down. Where the hell was the Ministry when he needed them? Actually, where the hell was he!? He had never, in all of his life, heard of these creatures' existence. If they were dangerous and eat humans, they would've been undoubtedly put down or observed closely – especially if they speak _Parseltongue,_ of all languages to exist! The language of _evil_ in the eyes of the Ministry.

Calm your balls Harry James Potter, he thought as he stopped his mental ranting. This wasn't the time or place to be side-tracked, especially when he was on the menu for their dinner. Really… calling him meat of all things. How uncouth!

After another five minutes of them being unable to track down where he went, they went back to where they came from with a few cussed words shouted out. Harry stayed above their eyesight for another ten minutes before he grew comfortable with relaxing his tensed muscles. Another five until he decided to treat his wounds and transfigure himself a pair of damn shoes. He doubted his Magic would be pleased at his casual use of it, but it was all for the sake of his survival.

Nightfall came just after he was done, and it astounded him to be able to still see in the dark. Actually, he felt and noticed that his senses had heightened immediately upon nightfall. And even if he despised his new skin tone, it blended in beautifully with his surroundings. Perhaps this new him was nocturnal?

As he made himself comfortable up in the tree he was temporarily residing on, he thought back to how he had instinctively moved away from the sunlight as he traipsed through this unfamiliar forest. Was he perhaps a _Dark Elf_? Usually a Wizard or a Witch would gain their creature inheritance at the age of seventeen (if they have any), but Harry did not gain such a thing except for a Magical boost to his already monstrous core.

He had indeed heard of some cases where Magicals gained their creature inheritance during their adulthood. But those were insanely few – he could count them all on one hand actually. The tome he had read stated that it was due to the complications the creature blood brought with the person's human's blood. It must mean that the creature was rare and had a high percentage rate of being unable to reproduce with a human. Just his luck to access his creature inheritance at some unknown place, and for it to be an _extinct_ creature much less. Damn his Potter luck! Trouble kept on finding him even though he tried to live a peaceful and isolated lifestyle! Well, as peaceful as he could anyway.

With a resigned sigh, he tucked his weapon semi half way inside his waistband, not at all caring that the safety was left untouched. As he had previously stated; his gun was unloaded since he had no real ammunition, so he had no reason to worry about shooting himself. He needed his weapon to be easy accessible, and sadly, he had left his holsters back at home. Don't judge him. He had planned to do some maintenance the next morning!

He took a mental note to try making a _Kydex_ concealment holster with his limited amount of material choices the next day, before he heaved out a sigh. He wasn't sleepy, but he was thoroughly exhausted. He released his Magic that was numbing his nerves and winced at the pain that instantaneously assaulted him. He tried to ignore them as he slept.

Unbeknown to him, he entered a trance-like state commonly known to Elves as Trance or Meditation. His eyes were half-lidded and hazed as he rested his mind, body, and Magic, yet alert at the same time.

* * *

 **TBC.**

Thank you all for your awesome reviews! It pleases me so damn much! Oh, and I fixed the mistake pointed out. Thanks for that. It's much appreciated.

For those of you who wish to read LSK, the manhua can be found on mangafox, whilst the novel could be found on princerevolution. Just google the two websites.

On another note, I am clueless about firearms and their holsters, so I would be grateful if anybody could tell me of any errors I made. In the Country I live in, it is considered ILLEGAL to even own any type of firearms. Civilians have none in their homes. A very safe place to live, sure, but what kind of teenager doesn't dream of owning his/her very own pistol!? I would always bemoan that fact.

 _ **Signing off,  
U.R.**_


End file.
